


Snores and Goosebumps

by Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me



Series: Nothing but Smut! [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, Bunker Sex, Goosebumps - Freeform, Groping, Human Castiel, M/M, POV Dean Winchester, Sleep Sex, Sleepwalking, Top Castiel
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-28
Updated: 2015-03-28
Packaged: 2018-03-20 01:35:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,803
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3631710
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me/pseuds/Castiel_Left_His_Mark_On_Me
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Human-Castiel is weird ... weirder than angel Cas, which was pretty, fuckin' weird to begin with. But topping Dean's long list of "weird" is the former angel's tendency to sleep-walk ... among other things.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Snores and Goosebumps

**Author's Note:**

> I have sort of had this fantasy for a while, and then when (tumblr) amourdestiel did an ask request for Destiel smut, I decided to write a tiny bit of it down. Then it kept nagging at me, so I had to write the rest ... and here it is! Enjoy!

      Dean’s eyes shoot open as he hears the soft footsteps sound from down the hall. _That’s not Sam._ He knows his brother’s walk, _every walk_ —drunk, tired, running, tip toeing … Sam has a distinct fall to his feet. This _isn’t_ Sam. Dean slips slowly from his sheets, straining his ears—the steps are uneven, erratic. They shuffle and then stomp. They slide and then kick. Whatever it is, it sounds off balance … _what the hell is that?_ The sound draws closer and Dean takes one, long step across the floor from his bed to reach out for the gun mounted on his wall. It’s loaded—all ready to go, he just has to point and shoot. His fingers wrap around the barrel just as his doorknob starts to shutter.

      Dean holds his breath, sliding the gun softly from its hook.

_Not today, fucker. You ain’t gonna sneak up on a Winchester._

      His door cracks open and Dean already has his sights set—eye level; he’s a good distance from the door so no matter who or _what_ it is, he should be able to get a clean shot of  its head or heart with just the slightest of adjustments. The light from the hall breaks in, making him squint and causing his trigger finger to shake with urgent need. His eyes adjust after another breath—a breath that calmed him just enough to wait before firing. His heart races as the familiar outline of his best friend stands crooked in the doorway.

      “ _Jesus, Cas_! What are you doing? I could have blown your head off!”

      Castiel doesn’t answer; he only slouches more against the frame—dangerously close to falling to the floor.  Dean looks his friend up and down, trying not to linger too long on the fact that the man is only in boxers and the white dress shirt he always wears.

      The gun is quickly placed back on the hook as Dean cocks his head to the side before walking over to check on the former angel “Cas, buddy. You okay? What’s up?”

      His friend stays silent and as Dean moves closer, he sees the man’s bleary, blue eyes twitch about the room, not focusing on anything at all.

      “ _Cas_?”

      His shaky hand reaches out, laying itself flat across Dean’s chest. It’s warm, and gentle.

      “Cas … what are you doing?” Dean says, laughing a little. He’s still not used to human-Castiel; everything he does is weirder than usual.

      Castiel finally pushes from the frame, stumbling forward causing Dean to stumble back.

      “ _Woah_! What the hell!”

      Dean attempts to regain his footing, but the edge of his bed catches the back of his knees and he collapses, grappling at Cas’s shirt while trying to stay upright. They both fall, sinking deep into the plush foam of his mattress. Dean wheezes with his friend’s weight on top of him, not sure if he should shove him off or hold on— _something might really be wrong here._ He looks again into the man’s eyes but the azure rings are still glazed over. Dean stares harder, finally shaking his friend, feeling desperation start to itch at his nerves. He wants a response; he _needs_ the guy to talk, tell him what’s happening.

      “Cas! Talk to me, ma—”

      Dean is cut off by the angel’s mouth, licking into his in a way that he’s never experienced—it’s _controlled_ and deliberate. His friend’s hands slide down Dean’s sides, finding the hem of his shirt before pushing it up to molest every bit of soft, pudgy skin it finds. Goosebumps consume him and Dean holds his breath, not sure what to do—not sure what the hell is even happening, but no matter how much his mind may be telling him to try and stop this, he just _can’t._

      Castiel continues to coax his lips, biting at them playfully and sucking each one between his own. Dean’s tongue is the first to take action, moving on muscle-memory after the third attack. The familiar feel of someone else wanting desperately for Dean to kiss them back is too much to deny. Castiel quickly sucks him in while his other hand snaps up to the nape of Dean’s neck, pushing their lips closer. Dean can’t remember the last time he’s been handled like this, or if he’s _ever_ been handled like this. He starts to feel himself harden.

_What the fuck? What the actual fuck?_

      “Dean” Castiel finally croaks and Dean shudders with the deep rumble of his friend’s voice. It’s lower than normal … he’s only ever heard Castiel sound like this a few times—after waking up from his nap in the Impala, or when he came back from the dead.

_Is he asleep?_

      His mind is quickly blanked by a pinch to his nipple. Dean arches up, letting his stiffened cock jab into Castiel’s thigh. His friend doesn’t seem to notice, still kissing Dean and letting his hand glide around the skin beneath his charge’s shirt.  He pinches his nipple once more and Dean bucks his hips again, only this time, moaning slightly into the mouth that’s currently smothering him in the most heavenly of ways.

_There’s still some angel in there._

      Light fingers start to inch lower, leaving goosebumps along every rib they pass. Dean sucks in a deep breath, gripping at the sheets as Cas’s hand passes his belly button and traces the edge of his sweatpants. His eyes burst as his friend delves beneath the layers of fabric, gripping him hard as if it’s something he’s done a million times before—stroking Dean like he knows exactly what the man craves … because somehow, he _does_. Castiel’s hand twists up, sliding a soft thumb over Dean’s leaky tip before moving back down quick, so it can repeat the motion.

_Oh my fucking God!_

      Dean bites his tongue, trying not to say the words out loud, _Sam might hear._ And his little brother certainly wouldn’t expect to see _this_ when he busts through the door, guns blazing, ready to take down whatever it is attacking the older Winchester.  

      Castiel finally pulls away from Dean’s lips and glides down to where his hand is still diligently working, moving his other to yank off Dean’s sweats until every sensitive bit of flesh is exposed to the walls of the room. Dean moves his mouth to speak—but stops, knowing that he could wake Castiel up … he _could_ make the man aware of what he’s doing, but if he does … Dean won’t get to see where this goes. And he kind of _really_ wants to see where this goes.  

      With his free hand, Castiel rolls Dean over onto his side so he’s facing away from him. Dean's green eye’s blur as the man still strokes him senseless. He barely feels his friend wriggle out of his own boxers, or hears the sound of him spitting into the palm of his hand, but he can’t help but feel the blunt pressure that’s soon gliding in between the meaty cheeks of his ass.

      “Oh god!” he wheezes, closing his eyes tight but still not reaching back. He _could_. He really, really could stop the guy _now._ But, something inside him feels like it needs to be filled a little more … he wants to feel used up … used up by _his_ angel.

      Castiel moves slow and Dean starts to relax as his friend’s slick head presses against his entrance. The man continues to work Dean’s cock—now sloppy and purpling as he gets closer and closer to the edge. Dean wriggles back, closing the already small space between him and his friend, loving the heat that’s radiating off the firm body behind him _._

      The hand around his shaft quickens its pace and Dean tries not to moan, flinging his head back as Castiel finally pushes inside. He can’t even gasp before his friend is at his ear; licking around the edge making more goosebumps riddle his sweating skin. The pressure is almost painful, but Cas is still moving slow, inching in steadily, letting Dean adjust with every bit of space he fills. Another few minutes pass with more licks, and strokes and minute thrusts, making Dean shiver and press harder into his angel’s body.

      Castiel hits a wall, and Dean gasps, reaching back to hold onto his friend, needing to feel him—feel _more_ of him; but the man pulls away, leaving that freckled, heaving body empty in more ways than Dean could ever comprehend.

      “Dean” Castiel says again, still deep and dark, in the pits of sleep.

      Dean turns his head a little to respond, but Castiel thrusts back inside him—harder but precise, hitting the wall again and making Dean yank his head the other way so he can growl into the pillow. Cas pulls out, only to slide in once more—harder, faster. He repeats, moving so fluid and exact, it’s as if he’s on a rail. Dean tries to keep still but he _can’t_ , his body is disconnected completely from his mind, moving whatever way his angel tells it to; and Dean starts to think, Castiel has a better understanding of what his needs are than even _he_ does.

      His friend pumps into him again while slipping his hand across his head and flexing his arm tight against Dean’s side. Castiel finally moans into the reddened ear below his lips and Dean loses himself, never knowing a sound he enjoyed more—he’s spurting out across the sheets and across his friend’s knuckles in hard gusts that make every muscle shiver. Cas continues to stroke him, leaving Dean to jerk and writhe, forcing his angel to try and hold him down and thrust into him harder. Dean is barely lucid when he hears Castiel groan low, letting a few, Enochian words slip from his tongue. Dean pushes himself back onto his friend’s cock, tensing the moment he feels the man expand inside him. Warmth fills every crevice to the point of bursting but Dean keeps himself planted firm against Castiel—riding out each divine shake and convulsion; ears dancing on each heavenly grunt and moan. His angel finally lets go of his softening shaft and the arm that was pressing into his side, relaxes, feeling heavy and lifeless across Dean’s own, shivering body. The sound of his heaving chest bounces around the room as everything else grows silent. He turns to try and look at Cas but the man is pressed too closely to his back.

      “Cas?”

      Dean is answered by a low, rattled snore.

      “ _Really_ , man?”

      Another snore tickles his ear.

      Dean smiles, scooting back a little more, making Castiel’s arm snake around his middle to keep him close. “Goodnight, Cas” he finally says around a yawn.

_It’s going to be a weird morning._

      He’ll worry about that then.

**Author's Note:**

> Find me on tumblr: castiel-left-his-mark-on-me. Please take a look at my other works as well ... many more feels, hottness and angst!


End file.
